Deleted Scenes
by dipdipdipmyblueship
Summary: A series of Carla-focused one shots from 2006-present, focusing on scenes that were mentioned or alluded to, but were not seen on screen.
1. 2007: Phone Call to Edinburgh

_**A/N: Currently working on a new update of Going For The Hat Trick, and I was re-watching old Carla scenes and had this idea: a series of one shots on Carla-centered scenes I would have liked to see happen on the show. Scenes that were mentioned, maybe alluded to, but ones that we ultimately never got to see on screen. From 2006 up until 2019. **_

_**If you have a scene you would like to me to attempt, please let me know in the reviews (if you know the date of the episode, that would be very helpful as well) and I will do my best. Going to start with this Liam and Carla scene...**_

* * *

**September 16th 2007: Phone Call to Edinburgh**

Carla reached over, gently pulling the whistling kettle off its base and poured the boiling water into her mug, the smell of peppermint drifting up and encircling around her like a cocoon. As she watched the tea leaves in the bag slowly ink the water beneath it, she couldn't help but chuckle at her choice of beverage this particular night, and wondered just when it was that she had acquired such a weak stomach.

_'__It was just some harmless flirting,'_ she told herself for what felt like the millionth time that evening as she squeezed the bridge of her nose, but in her heart she knew the truth; it was just too soon. The emotions she felt were still too fresh…too raw.

She unwrapped her robe and let it hang loosely about her tank top and pyjama pants as she went to pick up her mug. She paused momentarily as her eyes caught sight of the yellow note next to the phone on the counter….

_"__Umm Liam rang from Edinburgh. Says 'hello, and can you call him tonight'!" Rosie stated bubbly, handing the post-it note to her boss that had been attached to Liam's computer monitor._

_"__Oh aye, checking up on me..." Carla thought, a small smile tugging at her lips as she smiled fondly at the note in her hand._

_"__I dunno, does he need to?" Tony Gordon asked from beside her. She looked at him and tried to mask her own surprise that she had spoken her thoughts out loud. _

_"__I like to let him _**_think_**_ he does." She responded flirtatiously…_

With a smile, she picked up the cordless phone and dialed the number etched on the note. Grasping her mug to her and walking around the sofa, she pressed the receiver to her ear before swinging her legs out in front of her as she sat down on the chaise, drawing the throw blanket over her lower body as the hotel operator answered the phone.

"Yes, can I be connected with room 324 please?" she asked politely, as she rested her warm mug on her knee. "Yes, Liam Connor's room," her fingers idly drummed against the cup as she heard the obligatory clicks on the other line before the phone began to ring.

"Well it's about time!" His voice answered haughtily after just one ring, causing her to chuckle and roll her eyes.

"If that's your normal telephone manner Leebugs, I think I have a better understanding as to why Underworld was running short of orders prior to my taking over." She could hear him laugh through the receiver, and followed suit, "how'd you know it were me any road?" she asked

"Well you're the only person I gave the hotel and room number to, so by process of elimination…"

"Oh well I am honoured," she responded teasingly, "although, **technically**, you gave it to our PA."

"Well, yeah but we both know that Rosie wouldn't be able to memorize anything longer than three digits, now don't we?"

"You used to say that about me an' all," she stated knowingly, raising her mug to her lips

"Now we both know that's not true darlin'," he continued to tease her, "I mean, most of your gear came with five or six digits on the price tag, didn't it?"

"Don't quit your day job Leebugs," she said as she swallowed her mouthful of hot tea

"Now why would I do that when I've got a gorgeous business partner to look at who 'appens to 'ave a surprising knack for the business trade?" The moment the words escaped his lips, Liam closed his eyes and threw his head back against the headboard, chastising himself for revealing just an inkling of his deep-rooted feelings for his sister-in-law via the telephone. He waited with unabated breath for her reply, wondering how he was going to talk his way out of this one.

"This 'gorgeous' business partner," her voice leisurely inquired through the receiver, "does she know about me?"

Liam opened his eyes and chuckled, shaking his head at her attempt at deflection, "still can't take a compliment eh darlin'?"

"Only ones that aren't done while the 'complimenter' is on the pop." She answered quickly

"What makes you think I've been drinkin'?" He asked incredulously

"Liam, since I've known you, the only times you've ever said I had anything but a 'right ugly mug', was when you were drunk off your 'ead."

"Name 'em!" He challenged her

"On mine and Paul's wedding day, on the day of our housewarming party at the flat, and at the Christmas party your parents threw last year."

"And at the reception following our Paul's funeral," Liam whispered, "I weren't drunk then."

'_If only you knew I wasn't drunk at any of those moments,' _he thought despondently, _'or that I've thought of you as beautiful more times than I can count…'_

"That time doesn't count," she responded, taking another sip of her tea

"How'd you figure that?" He pressed

"'Cause you were merely comforting a grievin' widow," she answered smoothly with a shrug of her shoulders, "people say all sorts when they're trying to console someone." Before he could respond she swiftly changed the subject, "so how is bonny Scotland? Found any women to seduce with the typical Connor pick ups?"

"Nahh," he responded with a sad smile at her changing the topic so quickly, "can't hold a candle to the women back home."

"Oh Maria will be pleased to hear you say that!" she chuckled, licking her lips apprehensively before asking her next question, "so is it serious then?"

"What?" Liam inquired

"This thing with you and the perky, _'ead full of bubbles_ 'airdresser?" She smiled as she heard him chuckle. In her heart she really wanted him to be happy, but she couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy knowing that she would forever be on the outside of the Connor family now that her husband had passed on. She would now just be the business partner Liam was 'stuck with'…

"Well we're only seeing each other on and off aren't we?" Liam responded nonchalantly, "besides, after Leanne, I am in no rush to get into another relationship."

"Well I meant what I said a few months back Leebugs," she said lovingly, "you are a good catch, and you will find your one great love soon. Whether that be Maria or some other girl you fall hard for."

"From your lips," Liam smiled, _'your full, beautiful lips…'_

He coughed uncomfortably as he shifted on the bed, thoughts of his sister-in-law's lips pressed against his own caused an all too familiar twitch in his pants, and he quickly reached for the cold beer on his side table. "So is everything else okay?" he asked, taking a swig of the cool liquid

Carla sighed affectionately, "the business is fine Liam,"

"Come again?" he asked, genuinely confused

"Look, I know you called 'cause you're worried about me running the business in your absence but you don't need to. Really! I got everything under control, the girls are as gobby as ever, and we possibly have a new order coming our way from Gordon's Catalogue." She stated proudly before taking another sip of her tea.

"That's not why I called…" his voice was low and husky

Carla paused, the mug balancing at her lips and she listened to the heavy breathing on the other end. She could almost feel his breath on her ear and neck…

…and her stomach flipped at the thought.

She shook her head to clear her mind, "why did you call then?" she asked gingerly, her own voice now low and soft

"I wanted to make sure you were alright," Liam looked down to his pyjama pants; his fingers picking at a piece of lint by the knee, "you know, back in that flat by yourself, throwing yourself into work…I just," he sighed lovingly, "I just wanted to make sure you were 'anging in there."

She sighed and smiled, "I'm fine," she whispered truthfully, "I promise you Liam, you don't have to keep worrying about me being back 'ere."

"Can't 'elp it," he shrugged, _'I worry about you all the time…'_

"I moved back in two months ago," she continued

"Yeah but you had me around," he said, "besides, you never _really_ took time away to grieve proper you know?"

"You're borin' me now Liam," she responded firmly and he chuckled at the sound of her defenses coming up full force again; while unbeknownst to him, she brushed a solitary tear away from her eye.

"Okay," he said getting the hint she was not in the mood to talk emotionally, "well I'll be back on Sunday evening. Call me tomorrow if you need anything or just want to chat."

"Don't worry I won't be troubling you on your only night out to booze it up in the local pub." She chuckled

He gave a laugh, "Alright, well talk soon okay? Maybe I'll treat you to a takeaway on Monday evening… if you're nice to me."

"When am I ever not nice to you?" she teased

"Hmmm," he joked his eyes catching the small wrapped 'Queen Bitch' mug sitting on the side table, "oh uhh, now I know what you're going to say, but I bought you a little something anyways."

Her eyes lit up as a smile pulled at her lips, "what is it?"

"Uhh if I tell you, that will ruin the surprise now won't it?" he joked, "you'll find out first thing Monday mornin', cross my 'eart."

"'ope to die?" she teased

"You'd miss me…"

"maybe…"

"… 'ang up." He ordered her

"You 'ang up!" she fired back

"Alright, I'll jump first. Night darlin'" he whispered

"Night Liam." She heard the soft click of the phone and felt her heart sink slightly at the sound. She didn't want to admit to him that she missed having him around…she didn't like admitting that to herself.

She sighed and clutched the mug tighter to her chest, her eyes scanning the empty flat. Her gaze drifted to the door, as it always did these nights. She watched it curiously for two, three, maybe five minutes, silently aching and hoping that Paul would wander in from a late night out, wrap his arms around her, kiss her passionately, and carry her into the bedroom. Her eyes filled with tears and she sighed heavily.

Another night alone, in their bedroom, in their bed, missing her Paul.

She was just about to throw the blanket off her and head to the bedroom when the phone rang. She raised an eyebrow at who would be calling so late and contemplated just letting it go to voicemail. But curiosity got the better of her, and she pressed the talk button.

"Hello?" she answered softly

"You will not believe what's on't telly!" Came the ecstatic response

Carla couldn't stifle her laugh, "Girls Gone Wild?" she responded as she leaned back against the sofa, drawing her legs up closer to her.

"When 'arry met Sally," Liam answered happily, "I _love _this movie, **and** it's only just started."

"Never took you for a closeted romantic Leebugs," she giggled

"Hey I can be all 'earts and flowers when I want to be!" He smiled into the phone, "fancy keepin' me comp'ny?" he asked hopefully, _'please, please please…'_

Carla smiled and sank further into her seat, "Go on then, what channel?"

Turning on her TV with the remote, she pulled the blanket up to under her chin, and took another sip of her tea. "So wait, what is this movie about again?" she asked "I haven't seen it in ages."

Liam cleared his throat, "it's about how men and women can't be 'just friends'."

"What a load of rubbish," she exclaimed, "of course men and women can be just friends."

"Typical female response, I'm disappointed in you sweet'eart," he joked, "men always want sommit more, that's just in our like DNA."

"You are such a caveman…"

"…and you love me for it!"


	2. Christmas Day 2019

_**Christmas Day 2019**_

"Hello?"

"Hey Daniel, it's me," Peter took a drag of his cigarette as he leaned against the bonnet of his cab, "Listen, tell Carla I just got off shift and I'll meet you all back at number one, okay? I'm just going to pop in and have a quick shower before dinner. Oh, and tell her I'll check that the turkey is still edible as well..." he chuckled.

"Well if you're heading to dad's than you can tell her yourself. She left well over an hour ago with Michelle just as I was coming into the Bistro. I'm here with dad and Claudia. And you actually got me just in time, my phone's battery is about to die."

"Ah she's probably checking on the dinner herself, then. Hey, I tell you what," he blew out a puff of smoke, "I passed an ambulance coming from this direction a while ago. It were driving like the Dickens, and I didn't half think, 'Oh there you have it! Carla's given one of the Barlows food poisoning!'"

"Well, not yet, but there's still time," Daniel chuckled, "hope she remembered to put dad's veg option in the oven."

"If she hasn't I will- oh, hang on-" Peter watched a police cruiser as it sped along Victoria Street, before making a sharp left onto Rosamund and coming to a stop just beside the hair salon, "Daniel, I'll call you back."

He flicked his cigarette and jogged up the street, noticing two more idle police cruisers already parked along Coronation Street...

* * *

_"Morning Roy," Peter stepped up to the counter of the deserted cafe, "Merry Christmas!"_

_"Ah yes, Merry Christmas," Roy repeated, as he continued to pack up assorted containers, "wh-what time did you get in last night?"_

_"Oh, I'd say around 11 or so, but I think you were already spark out by that point. I just popped round to me dad's to put Si's and Bertie's presents from Car and myself under the tree. And I also brought you this," he held up a carton of milk, "dad had a spare, and I noticed you were running low."_

_"Ah, that's very kind, thank you. I'm actually just going to drop these food donations off to the shelter, an-and then stop by Nina's to make sure she's alright before I head back here," he pointed upwards, "I believe Carla is still asleep. Are you sure you don't mind getting started on breakfast while I'm out?"_

_"Not at all, Roy. Besides, it's better I do it before Carla winds up getting more of an itch to scratch, you know cooking-wise, then she already has done."_

_"I must say, she did do a great job preparing the turkey yesterday evening."_

_"Really?"_

_"Yes, she followed my instructions step-by-step, but she insisted that I be on hand just in case."_

_"And you uhh, made sure she, ummm-"_

_"-Removed the bag of giblets, yes," Roy eased Peter's concern, "the bird was throughly cleaned, seasoned, and stuffed all under my supervision," he gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, "it's in the roasting pan in the fridge, ready to be taken to your father's."_

_"I don't understand why she's putting this much pressure on herself," Peter tapped his fingers on the countertop, "I mean, cooking has never exactly been a relaxing or therapeutic venture for Carla, let alone a flamin' Christmas turkey."_

_Roy eyed the man in front of him with concern. He knew Peter was terrified of Carla taking on too much, and what it could possibly do to her recovery if she suddenly became overwhelmed or anxious. He understood the fear and the concern, having himself witnessed Carla at the very height of her psychosis; but Roy being Roy, was nothing if not logical._

_"I believe that since she no longer has the factory to preoccupy her time, she's simply trying to keep herself busy with new and varied projects."_

_"You think so?"_

_"I do. In fact, I think we sh-should continue to support her in her ventures. Trying to restrict an ambitious businesswoman like Carla to that of a docile homebody would probably cause more harm than good in the long run."_

_"Yeah," Peter pushed himself away from the counter, "you're probably right."_

_"Indeed," Roy nodded, "and I shouldn't fret. No matter what happens with the dinner, I-I do sincerely believe that it will be take something far greater than a turkey to bring down Carla Connor."_

_"Yeah, you have a point there. And I mean, hey even if she does somehow end up incinerating the thing in me dad's oven, it's not like she can get arrested for a 'murder most fowl', eh?" Peter chuckled at his own joke._

_"I don't follow."_

_"Fowl, Roy. You know, F-O-W-L?" he tried in vain to explain to Roy._

_"Ye-yes but generally speaking a fowl is normally in reference to a domesticated barnyard hen, rooster or chicken-"_

_"No, Roy-"_

_"...although I suppose it can also refer to any of several other, usually ground-feeding game birds that are barnyard, domesticated, or wild..."_

_"No, no it was a pun, Roy. You know a joke?"_

_"Was it?"_

_"Yes, it's funny! It's 'Murder most fowl' instead of foul like F-O-U- ...Right, well I best go up and grab a quick shower before madam gets in there. Do you need any help loading the woody first?"_

_"No, no, I'm fine. I've got the heavier pots already packed in the back seat, it's just these few containers left. You-you go on up and I'll see you in an hour or so."_

* * *

"I live just there. Right there! Next to the pub-"

"Sir-"

"-and I can't get in touch with me girlfriend or my nephew-!"

"Sir, please stand back-" The officer's hands lightly pushed against Peter's shoulders

"Look, I just want to make sure that they're okay!"

"Sir, until the area is secure, no one is getting through. Now please, step back. I won't ask you again."

Peter hung his head, and stepped away from the officer, placing his hands on his hips, "can you ummm," he exhaled a shaky breath, "can you at least tell me what's happened?"

"Sir-"

"Please," Peter raised his gaze upwards, his eyes lined with unshed tears

The officer shook his head sympathetically, "I'm sorry."

Peter's hand came up and rubbed his beard, nodding as the officer walked back across the street.

"Hey!" a bystander called out towards him, "Someone's been shot. Outside the pub,"

"Shot?"

"Yeah, they were standing outside and they were shot through the glass in the door."

"Was it a woman?" Peter's hand gripped onto his stomach as a wave of nausea overtook him, but the man simply shook his head

"We don't know. They were in an ambulance before we got here. Apparently the gunman's still out there..."

"Right, thanks," he nodded to the couple as he pulled out his mobile and scrolled through the contacts while he walked along his sister's flower shop.

"Hi, you've reached Carla Connor. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you. Ta."

"Car?" his voice cracked, "baby, I don't know why you're not picking up, but listen: wherever you are, do not come outside, okay? Please, just lock the doors, and stay away from the windows-"

The sound of more sirens pulled his attention towards the Bistro, where three more cruisers appeared from Viaduct Street.

"-Carla, I really, really, need you to call me back. Please, baby, I need to know you're safe," he pleaded, "I love you."

Ending the call, his focus now shifted to the pub where officers had cordoned off a section of the sidewalk. His eyes caught sight of blood that puddled along the concrete, just beyond where two officers stood guarding, what he assumed, was now a crime scene. His mind started racing: had Carla been on her way in to wish Johnny and Jenny a Merry Christmas? Had she just been reaching for the door when-

He shook his head viciously and leaned against the wall beside the entrance to his old flat, kicking his foot against it in frustration, 'w_here the hell are you, baby...?'_

* * *

Peter watched as a Tactical Firearms Unit van sped past him, and attempted to turn onto Coronation Street. Unable to squeeze through the police cars already on scene, the van's horn blared, causing officers to quickly scramble to move the idle cars.

Using the distraction to his advantage, Peter deftly ducked under the police tape and ran past the Rovers, quickly ducking into the ginnel behind the pub before he could be spotted.

Upon approaching ever closer to the back garden of number one, he could hear the smoke detector beeping from within. "No," he whispered before pushing his way in, the billowing smoke from the oven all but confirming that Carla was not in the house.

He quickly turned the dials on the oven off, and opened the window above the sink to draw the smoke out. "Carla?" he called out in vain. Grabbing a dishtowel he waved it around him, dispersing the fumes that hung in the air as he pushed his way through the main room and into the foyer,

"Carla?" he tried again, coughing as some smoke caught in his throat.

Tossing the dishtowel across the back of the chair he exited back into the garden, and jogged along the ginnel towards Viaduct Street, hoping that in the time since he had spoken to Daniel, Carla had made it back to the Bistro..

"Armed police! Armed police! Put down your gun!" The booming voice halted him in his tracks as he made his way out of the ginnel.

His eyes followed the crouched officer's sightline upwards to the Helter Skelter, and to the man who was perched upon it. His heart beat rapidly in his chest at the sight, before he saw his brother step outside the front doors of the Bistro, in obvious confusion about the commotion on the street.

"Get back inside!" an officer ordered him, as another forced him backwards.

The sound of heels clicking along the pavement drew Peter's attention to the small figure that ran in a panic towards the Winter Wonderland entrance.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa-" an officer shouted as he reached for the woman,

"Gary!" Maria screamed out, before being pulled away

"No, no no! Get back! Get back!" the officers shouted simultaneously.

As Maria was dragged to safety, Peter's gaze rose upwards again to the Helter Skelter, where the man was now struggling with another. Before he could even think about making a run for the Bistro, a gunshot echoed throughout the street and Peter instinctively ducked back into the ginnel for cover. Crouching and leaning back against the wall, he heard another gunshot ring out, before he was startled by his phone vibrating.

Pulling it out of his pocket, he almost cried in relief at seeing her name flash across the screen, "Carla!"

"Peter, I'm so sorry, I left my phone in my car in the hospital's carpark! I only just managed to grab it now."

"Hospital?" his breath hitched in his throat, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, I left a message on Adam's phone, has he not been in touch?"

"No, I haven't seen him, yet. What's happened? Why are you at the hospital?"

She exhaled a shaky breath, "Peter, Robert's been shot..."

* * *

Roy placed a mug of tea in front of Peter and sat down next to him.

It was just past midnight, and Carla had not yet returned from Weatherfield General. The last he had heard, Robert was in critical condition, a message he had passed along to everyone who had been waiting for news in the Bistro. After ensuring his dad and Claudia got home safely, he decided to wait back at Roy's for Carla.

Both men sat in a prolonged, nervous, but companionable silence, until the sound of the door opening and closing downstairs shifted them out of their reverie.

Peter rose to his feet and waited in the hallway as footfalls made their way up the stairs. He watched as she opened the door and closed it behind her, her eyes remaining downcast.

"Carla?"

Slowly she rose her gaze to his, her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks wet with tears, and she simply shook her head at him.

Without another word he closed the gap between them, his arms wrapping around her as she dropped her coat and purse to the floor and her reached her arms around him. He swayed her gently, whispering reassuring words into her ear as he cradled her head against his shoulder.

And at the kitchen table, Roy turned his head sadly from them, his eyes drawn to the window across from him; to the blue flashing lights that lit up the street below...


	3. Christmas Eve 2012

**_Christmas Eve 2012_**

I see her sitting at the table, shoulders slumped and eyes downcast; staring blankly into the cup of coffee before her.

I should just keep walking. Walk straight through to the door just beyond her and back to my normal day to day life.

But even after everything we've been through, I feel a pull towards the broken woman before me. I can't help but feel enormous pity for what she's been through the past year. Even as the sun beats down upon the table and on her lovely tanned skin, I can see the bags under her eyes as she idly plays with the cup before her. Her fingers trembling every so slightly in... nervousness? Apprehension? I cannot be sure. But in spite of my earlier desire to simply walk out, I cannot. Maybe it's the maternal instinct in me, but she looks like she needs someone to talk to and I know that it is not in the nature of this particular woman to ask for anyone's help, nor feel the need to talk about what's on her mind. I can't help but feel curious as to why she continues to close herself off from others, from those she loves and those that love her.

I feel for this woman. After all, even if it was for a very brief time, I did look upon her once as a daughter...

I gingerly step forward, listening to the flutter of conversations around me at surrounding tables. Her eyes finally lift and lock on mine as I come to stand at her table and I can't help the small reassuring smile that tugs at my lips instinctively. I can see the worry in her stunning green eyes, sensing that she now suddenly feels out of place and awkward, and I know I've seen that same look in those orbs multiple times before. I had never realized - or maybe it was that I never wanted to accept - that her tough exterior and snappy tongue was just a cover for a frightened young woman who never really felt like she belonged anywhere. I sigh deeply and feel my heart break in my chest for her, feeling a slight nagging of guilt as I come to terms with my role in kicking her around when she was down.

Without asking, I pull out the chair opposite her, and she offers me a crooked smile before lowering her gaze back to the cup between her palms. As I settle in, I see she is mumbling something to herself, as if garnering her courage to speak with me.

We seem to sit like this for a long stretch of time, but I'm not bothered by her sudden shyness. It gives me the time to study her as she sits before me; I realize that in spite the tan she must of acquired on vacation somewhere, her complexion is rather pale, her features somber, and behind the makeup and coverup she has deftly applied, her eyes still hold that slightly red tinge from what I assume has been acquired from days of crying.

It is I who breaks the silence that hangs between us, knowing I am doing so for her benefit.

"You're a ways from Weatherfield Carla," I say in soft voice, "and on Christmas Eve? Shouldn't you be with Peter?" I watch as her eyes close slowly and she swallows nervously, her full lips rolling inwards and pressing them upon the other.

"I should be in Los Angeles actually, that's where I was the past week. Only just arrived back in Manchester late last night. I just- I just can't seem to make my way to Weatherfield..." She exhales deeply before lifting her eyes and meeting mine again, "Peter and I..." She trails off and bites her lower lip; she looks up towards the ceiling as fresh tears begin to fill her eyes, "we ummm, we finished..."

"Why?" I find myself asking as I gingerly reach for her trembling hand.

She instinctively flinches and recoils from my touch, and I furrow my brow sympathetically to her. I don't blame her for it...the poor thing has been tainted and violated by a man who claimed to love her.

"Come on Carla," I press supportively, "you wouldn't have come here if you didn't want to talk. You knew I'd be here." I watch again as she lowers her gaze to the table and mumbles to herself, possibly gearing herself up to open up to me, and I try once more to reach her, "I know you have every reason to hate me Carla," I begin gingerly and she shakes her head in response, "after all I treated you abhorrently, but maybe by us talking now, we can put the past behind us, bury our demons so to speak-"

"There's the thing..." She whispers, her voice cracking with unbridled emotion

"What's the thing?" I ask gently

"The past..." She whispers shakily, "the demons. I can't move on."

"Tell me," I encourage her again, and after taking a large sip of her coffee she finally begins to talk openly.

She tells me all about the custody battle over Peter's little lad and how she had tried unsuccessfully to garner a peace between him and his wife; how tensions continued to rise exponentially despite them all wanting the best for young Simon. She tells me how Peter fell off the wagon quite spectacularly, taking her down with him and saying some horrid things to her as she trudged out of the flat with her suitcase in tow.

She tells me of her brother Rob's arrival and how his mood towards her shifted like night and day. One minute he'd be laying into her for leaving him and their mother all those years ago, and the next he'd be the loving, sympathetic brother she craved him to be.

She tells me about Peter's failed attempt to leave the country with his son, and how she had changed her mind at the last minute and brought Leanne to the train station. How she witnessed the heartbreaking decision Simon had to make between his two parents and how it shattered Peter when his son chose to stay in Weatherfield with Leanne.

She tells me of how she dropped her whole life and traveled with Peter for the past six months in order to get his head straight so that he could be the father he wanted to be to Simon.

I feel my heart breaking for her as she explains how with every mile they put between themselves and Weatherfield, she finally began to piece back her own life. But that all changed when Peter insisted they go back to Manchester for the holidays.

She tells me how she started drinking upon realizing that Peter wanted to stay and the horrible things she said to both Simon and Leanne in her drunken state. The tears begin to fall unabashedly down her face as she recounts her heartbreaking decision to head back to L.A. and leave both Peter, and what remains of her family, behind.

"Carla," I whisper, gingerly reaching out and grasping her hand, smiling softly when she doesn't pull it away, "You never really pieced your life back together when you were away," I state as gently as possible, "not really, because you never properly dealt with-," I pause for a moment, swallowing the bile that rises to my throat before trying again, "-because you never properly dealt with what my son did to you."

I watch as she shudders involuntarily and drops her head to shield her emotions but I press on regardless, "that's why you're here isn't it? That's why you came here to see me?"

She nods meekly before speaking, "I came back because I can't keep running away," she whispers shakily, "I always leg it when I'm petrified, and I'm petrified of my flat," she sighs and shakes her head, "I'm petrified of the factory, I'm petrified of me own shadow." Her lower lip quivers and she gently squeezes my hand in reassurance before speaking again, "I see Frank everywhere, Anne," her voice is barely audible but I can see the pain pulsing behind her eyes, "he's in my flat, he's in my factory…" her voice cracks as she chokes on a sob, "he's in my head…"

"It'll take time Carla, before all those memories become a thing of the past," I smile encouragingly at her, "but you have to face your fears, and that means delving into the darkest places of your mind and coming to terms with what happened to you. Only then can you truly start to recover."

"How did you do it?" she asks timidly, her damp eyes boring into mine as if thirsting for knowledge, "how did you come to terms with this?"

"I had no choice," I answer truthfully as I glance around knowingly, "I've been alone in a cell for months now, with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company. It was hard and difficult to accept what my son was capable of, but I had to face that difficulty head on," I squeeze her hand gently, "and unlike you, I didn't have all these other factors plaguing me. Carla, you were viciously raped by my son. You then had to get back into the business you shared with him, and I made you pay dearly for it. Then there was the trial, the exposure of the affair, then more of Frank's grand schemes, and finally his murder in which everyone believed, no thanks to my deplorable behaviour, that you committed. And even though it all came out in the end, immediately afterwards you were locked in a custody battle between your boyfriend and his ex-wife and spent the next months supporting your partner with his demons. So I'm going to ask you..."

I reach across the table and tenderly wipe the tears from her face with my fingers, "...when have you had the chance to really come to terms with the rape, Carla? Hmm?"

Her eyes bore into mine, her brow furrowing and she bites the inside of her lip as it quivers. She shakes her head softly, "I haven't…"

"No, you haven't." I agree with her firmly. "You say you've come back because you can't run anymore," she nods in agreement, "that's a start. But now comes the hard part; you have to stand your ground. That was your home before Frank came into it. You had a family unit there with your first husband and his family and I bet you that if you really think about it, the good memories outweigh the bad in there." I watch the emotion pass across her face and smile lovingly at her, "go to Peter, Carla. Go to him and if he is willing to help you through this, then let him in. But whether he is willing or he isn't, you need to find the strength within yourself to face your demons. You are a strong woman," I say as I lift my hand and cup her cheek softly, "you just need to believe it yourself."

"I wasn't expecting this you know," she states as I watch her struggling to speak, "I came here to apologize to you Anne. For all the pain that I've caused to you. I know I drove Frank to do what he did to me –"

"No!" I state a little louder than I intended, and the guard standing nearby shoots me a look of warning, "No," I repeat a little lower this time, my gaze falling back upon the woman across from me again, "no matter what he _thought_ you were doing, no matter what you said to him, he had no right to do what he did to you!"

"Why are you doing this?" she asks me pointedly, her face one of confusion, "why are you being so nice to me? If your son had never met me, you wouldn't be in 'ere right now."

"Probably not," I agree with her, "or maybe he would have done the exact same thing to another woman," my voice lowers "and maybe _she_ wouldn't have pleaded my case to the police that night in March, or to the judge at my sentencing in May. And instead of being at this open, miminum-security prison in York, I'd be in a closed, high-security one in Manchester."

"I only did what I knew was right," she whispers dismissively

"As am I," I respond truthfully. We hear the bells chime and I know our conversation is now at an end. I slowly rise to my feet as does she. "You made the right decision in coming back Carla," I say reassuringly, "You wouldn't have found your answers in Los Angeles; no matter how beautiful the sunshine or warm the weather." Before she can answer I draw her into an embrace. I feel her body tense at first, unsure of how to react, but within seconds her arms wrap about me. I suspect this is the first motherly embrace she's had in a long while…

I stroke her hair lovingly, "Despite what you may think Carla, you were exactly what I wanted in a daughter-in-law: beautiful, feisty, spirited, and able to put us all in our place at the drop of a hat." I gently pull back and catch her tear-filled eyes as they look into mine with some unbridled hope, "but you were too good for my son. I'm not sure if Peter will be good for you, but I believe he does love you Carla; and I know he will move heaven and earth to help you through this…if you let him." She nods meekly and I feel the guard shuffle up behind me. "Good luck my dear; I hope you allow yourself to find happiness soon." With a final smile, I walk around her and head for the door.

"Anne?" I hear her call to me and I turn slowly to look upon her once more.

"Happy Christmas," she says with a smile.

"Happy Christmas Carla." I smile back, before walking through the door and down the hallway to my cell.


	4. Christmas Day 2012 Pt 1

**Christmas Day 2012**

"You've reached Carla Connor. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you."

"Car," he breathed shakily into the phone, "Look, I don't blame you for walking out, okay? I know I've messed up big time, but please," Peter pleaded into the phone, "baby, please just come home so that we can talk this through. I don't blame you for not believing me, you have every right not too, but I meant everything I said last night. Please love, I can't - I won't lose you again..."

With a resounding sigh, he ended the call. Placing his mobile on the kitchen countertop, he dropped his head into his hands, his fingers frantically running through his hair. Where the hell was she? He had checked the usual places: the factory, the flat, her old flat, to no avail. His fear that she had left him for good reaching a fever pitch even had him asking for Tracy's help with checking trans-Atlantic flights due to leave from Manchester, Gatwick and Heathrow airports. None of which, to his relief and sheer luck, had any flights outgoing until the following afternoon.

In a final bid of desperation, he had bit the bullet and sought out Rob and Michelle, knowing full well the earache he would endure from the pair of them, but was instead left speechless at Rob's blase attitude towards his sister's disappearance.

Pushing himself upright, he breathed slowly in and out as that same sickening nausea he had battled earlier that evening suddenly came back with a vengeance. His eyes blinked several times as a dizzy feeling swept over him, and he carefully padded into the bedroom, desperately needing to lie down before he passed out.

He curled his body up on the mattress, the sheets still disheveled from their night of passion the night before, and hugged Carla's pillow against his chest, breathing in the scent of her that lingered there; it's soothing effect quickly replaced with a pang of overwhelming guilt.

'Last night was like a dream, Peter. You said the most amazing things to me...' Her voice had cracked earlier that morning; her fingers had raked through her hair as the realization that he had tried to seduce Leanne the night before dawned on her, throwing her world into a jumbled mess of confusion and heartbreak.

'And I meant every word I said...' He had told her.

And he had. He couldn't deny that he had hoped to see Leanne when he opened his front door, late the previous evening, gleeful that his mind games with her had succeeded in ruining her upcoming nuptials to Nick. But the initial shock of seeing Carla standing there instead subsided quickly the moment she was in his arms. Leanne and indeed his whole plan of revenge had been swiftly forgotten. All that mattered was that Carla was back where she belonged - with him.

It wasn't long after they reignited their passion the best way they knew how, making up for lost time, that her body had begun to shake against him. Her apprehension had started to rise to the forefront once more as she succumbed to the horrible memories that plagued her, as they had done when they had first arrived back from Los Angeles. The tears she could no longer hold back had rapidly begun to fall.

'One day at a time, love' He had whispered to her. He held her naked body close to his own as they lay together on the bed, watching the clock on the bedside table switch from 11:59 pm to 12:00 midnight, 'We'll get you through this, one day at a time.' He had pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling her tears wet against his arm that pulled her ever closer to him, 'me and you, love…'

They had spent the next few hours alternating between sleeping and sex, until he was awakened with a start, the harsh buzz of the doorbell echoing throughout the flat. Careful not to wake Carla, still slumbering peacefully, he gently removed his arm from where it had been wrapped around her body. He quickly threw on some clothes and made his way down the steps, when he was suddenly thrown back into the harsh light of reality and the devastating fallout of his mind games of the past week when Leanne, decked out in her wedding dress pushed past him and up the stairs into his flat.

He just needed to get her out of the flat before she said something incriminating that Carla would overhear. But then she offered to take off her dress and damn him for allowing it to give him pause for that one prolonged second - he was a virile male after all - but it was just long enough for Carla's voice to boom from the hallway that their ship had long since sailed.

He watched the two women snipe at each other, cowardly wanting to stay out of the trench he had scattered with bombs over the past week. But when Leanne launched into a confident tirade about his feelings for her, and how he would drop Carla in an instant for her if she said the word, his conscience reared its ugly head, like the git it was, and he knew he had taken this game too far.

He had set out to play with her mind, to instill doubt about marrying Nick, a fitting act of revenge for Nick and Leanne's affair, for Nick's role in almost destroying him with booze. And he couldn't forget Leanne's smug satisfaction upon hearing of a broken-hearted Carla's departure just over a week prior. No, he couldn't let that slide, either.

Peter never had any intention of getting back together with Leanne; it had all been a game. But his game now held the horrifying possibility of destroying the only romantic relationship that really mattered to him.

Carla gave as good as she got as she verbally spared with his ex-wife. But while her confidence may have duped Leanne, she didn't fool Peter; he could see in her stance that she was breaking, that the lingering fear of rejection after she had risked everything to come back to Weatherfield for him now threatened to overwhelm her completely.

But still, he ran after Leanne as she fled from the flat. Not because he cared more for her than the woman he had left to watch them from the window above. No. This was simply his feeble and foolish attempt to assuage his guilt.

In the end, though, it was futile. Leanne wouldn't forgive this. And as she venomously screeched at him, still unwilling to recognize her part in the breakdown of their relationship, he couldn't mask the feeling of satisfaction as he watched her clamber into the waiting car, trying in vain to salvage what remained of her wedding day.

Whether Leanne and Nick married that day or if they split up, he no longer cared. The woman waiting for him in their living room, the one whom he had given up his marriage for, the woman who had given up everything for him, she was the only one who mattered.

He watched her struggle to bottle her emotions and fail. She was terrified of giving up control, he knew this, and he felt sick to his stomach at seeing her so vulnerable because of his actions. And while he ultimately managed to convince her of the truth: that he loved only her, he knew those seeds of doubt had been firmly planted in her mind.

They headed to his dad's for dinner, Carla's mask of indifference already in place as she prepared herself to act as though it didn't bother her that his family still treated her as his mistress, as the homewrecker who split a family apart. But to the surprise of them both, she was welcomed into their loving but dysfunctional family unit, with Ken remarking how his son hadn't looked as happy as he did in weeks. As they sat around the table, popping the crackers and exchanging stories and laughs, he continued to gaze lovingly at Carla. This was all Peter had wanted since he admitted he loved her last year, and he knew that with the rest of his family now accepting of the love of his love, his son would eventually come around as well.

But he knew the peace couldn't last. It never did. So when Leanne came banging on the door of number one, screeching like a fishwife at him, he couldn't help but reveal the truth behind his actions over the past week.

_"...the day I went to a mortuary thinking a body was yours!" Leanne hit him on the chest, and he grabbed her wrists to restrain her, "you've got a funny way of showing love!"_

_"Yeah, yeah, well, and so have you, as Nick's found out to his cost!"_

_After enduring Leanne's tirade of insults before she was finally dragged away by Stella and Jason, he swiftly declared his innocence to his father. But when he made his way back inside, he came face to face with Carla, her eyes flashing dangerously upon hearing his admission._

_"Where are you going?" He asked, trying to mask the panic that was creeping in as she shrugged on her coat._

_"Get out of my way, Pe'er!"_

_"No," he stood in front of the door, shielding it with his arm, "not until you tell me where you're going."_

_She narrowed her eyes at him, "this was all some sort of sick game, weren't it? Some revenge on Nick for having an affair with Leanne when you two were engaged?"_

_He glanced at his father, who stood in the foyer behind Carla, "dad, can you give us a minute, please?"_

_"Oh, Peter," Ken admonished him, his feet remaining firmly where they were, "what have you done?"_

_"He wanted Nick to feel what he did," Carla responded, "Isn't that right, Peter? You wanted him to feel the same pain: to know that the woman he loved might just love someone else more."_

_"Carla, please," Peter pleaded with her as he glanced briefly to where Simon was sat on the stairs, his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging them to his chest as he peered through the bannister, "can we just talk about this at home?"_

_Carla's eyes followed his, and she scoffed, "Yeah, you wouldn't want your son thinking any less of you. Or Leanne, for that matter. No. As long as Simon pins all the blame on me as per, then you're both in the clear. And the pair of you can keep using that lad as an emotional battering ram. Who cares if he suffers so long as you get one up on the other."_

_He watched as her eyes became glassy with unshed tears before she snatched her purse from the side table._

_"I've had enough of this," she turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen._

_"Carla, wait!" he called out, ready to give chase when he found his path inexplicably blocked by his father._

_"Let her go," Ken placated him, hearing the door to the back garden open and close swiftly, "give her some space. You'll only make things worse now..."_

He resisted the urge to ignore his dad and race after her, but he knew the old man was right. She needed to cool off. But it wasn't long before he became restless again. He had to find her. He had to make things right before he lost her for good.

He once again breathed in the comforting scent of her that lingered on the pillow he clutched to his chest, his eyes drifting to her clothes that she had hung in the closet earlier that morning, before he finally pushed himself up and off the mattress. He needed to do something, anything before his emotions threatened to overwhelm him once more. And so back into the kitchen is where he found himself, his body moving of its own accord as he went through the motions of making himself a brew. He took out his favourite mug from the cabinet and placed it on the counter, he turned to the kettle and flicked on the switch at the back, he opened the canister beside it and retrieved a teabag.

But beneath his slow, deliberate motions and seemingly calm exterior, inside, Peter Barlow was quickly unravelling. His eyes remained acutely focused on the screen of his mobile, as he silently prayed to any god that would listen that he would strive to be a less vengeful man from this day forward if only his phone would ring...

* * *

"Whisky, neat." He ordered as he sat down on a barstool in the hotel's lobby.

This wasn't how he imagined this night. Christmas night, his wedding night. And oh, how he had imagined it: the romance, the champagne, the chocolates on the pillows, the opulent honeymoon suite. Now he would be drinking the champagne alone, eating the chocolates alone, sleeping in the honeymoon suite's four-poster bed alone.

He sighed in despair, 'if only Eva had stuck around,' he thought. Meaningless sex was just what he wanted right now; what he craved. And she was offering it up on a plate. Sticking the boot into Leanne would be merely a bonus.

A flash of red caught his eye from the far end of the wooden-topped bar, a woman in red, a red dress. The enticing lines of her back becoming to him.

'Now that's interesting,' he thought as his eyes lingered on her body. He didn't need to see her face to know who she was; he had spent the better part of 2010 near the woman to know her every gesture, her every curve. Not that he had ever been physically intimate with her. No. Though the thought had crossed his mind more than once. And now, with that mask of self-confidence she had worn like a shield when they had first met ripped from her through the trauma she had suffered through this past year, she still retained that same quality so that there was no mistaking who she was.

_'Nick, please, let me prove how much I love you, please!'_

_'So what are you going to do? You gonna fake it 'till you feel it?'_

_'I don't need to!'_

_'You're a liar!'_

_'Why should they always get the happy endings?'_

_'Who? Peter? Carla? I mean, she's 5000 miles away!' Leanne looked away, unable to meet his eyes, 'Isn't she?' he felt his heart sink as realization set in, 'I see, he knocked you back, 'cause he got a better offer...'_

Her natural striking raven hair was now lighter in colour, a soft brown hue that only seemed to accentuate her features further. But still, it was indeed the Carla Connor who sat in the lobby bar of his hotel, on his wedding night. She was most definitely back from L.A. She was here, in the flesh, and looking as intoxicating as ever.

Oblivious to her surroundings, her lack of awareness gave him ample time to take her in: her head remained lowered as she twirled her wine by the stem of the glass, her body slightly hunched forward with one leg crossed over the other while her black pump dangled teasingly off her right foot. As her phone vibrated on the bar, she moved it closer to her, peering down at the name flashing on the screen.

Nick bit his lip as he watched her scowl before rejecting the call, pushing the phone away from her again, she picked up her glass and sipped on her wine, her tongue sweeping along her lips to catch the residual liquid that remained. He felt that familiar feeling stir within him again; that same lust he felt the first time he had ever seen her sashaying with such confidence into her factory.

Why was she here, he wondered. In this particular hotel, on this specific evening. All he could conclude was that she was here for the same reason as him: to lick her wounds. As he leaned on the counter and rubbed his hand along his chin, he mulled over a new plan. Suddenly, his wedding night transformed from a night of misery to one of intrigue, of temptation and, if he played his cards right, to a night of revenge. For if there were one woman he could seduce that would cause the most damage to those around him, it would be the girlfriend of his nemesis.

He closed his eyes, imagining the look of pure horror and heartbreak that would flash across Peter's face when he found out that Nick had bedded his girlfriend.

And the tears that would fall from Leanne's eyes as she felt just a fraction of the pain he had endured earlier that day.

He opened his eyes once more to gaze at her figure and grinned. Oh yes, seducing Carla would be beyond satisfying. 'In more ways than one.'

"This seat taken?"

Carla sharply turned as Nick perched himself onto the empty barstool next to her, flashing her a cheeky wink as his fingers deftly unbuttoned his suit jacket, "oh, it's you."

"Charming," he chuckled.

"Oh no, sorry, I didn't mean it like that," she shook her head, "my friend Eddie here," Carla nodded to the bartender, who flashed her an easy smile in return, "mentioned it were dead tonight because of a cancelled wedding. I didn't put two and two together until I saw your ugly mush."

"So, you didn't come here on purpose?"

Carla took a sip of her red wine and shook her head, "no, well, yes, but not for the reason you're thinking."

"Tell me. Why?"

"Peter wouldn't think to look for me here," she half-heartedly shrugged as she glanced about the bar, "You know, me and Paul stayed here before we jetted off to the Maldives for our honeymoon," she offered him a lopsided grin, "we came back on our fifth wedding anniversary as well. You shoulda seen the room. Had some good memories here."

"Wish I could say the same," he frowned and shuffled in closer on his seat, "beautiful honeymoon suite though."

"Mmm, wait 'till you try the whirlpool tub," she raised her wine glass back to her lips, "it'll ruin all future baths for you," she giggled as she took a sip.

"Well, that is the master plan for later."

"Got your rubber ducky, have you, Nicky?"

"I told you, don't call me Nicky."

"Sorry, couldn't resist," she bit her lip playfully.

"And no, I don't have a rubber duck, but I do have bubbles, a bottle of champagne, a playlist for the broken-hearted on my iPod, so I'm all set."

"You need a good playlist," she chuckled, "I must have listened to Lana Del Rey on a constant loop the whole flight back to Los Angeles," she took a sip of her drink, "well, most of the songs, any road."

"Ah, one that reminded you too much of Peter?"

Her eyes remained fixated on her glass as her fingers tapped along its base, "Yeah. _Video Games_."

"Not bad," he nodded, "I always preferred that song from that Bridget-something-or-other, movie. You know which one I mean."

Carla curiously tilted her head, "Which song?"

"You know, that song she sings near the beginning of the film."

"What's it called?"

"_All by myself_?"

"Don't think I'm familiar with it," she shook her head.

"Seriously? _All by myself_? It's been covered multiple times: Rosemary Clooney? Celine Dion?"

"Nope, not a clue what you're on about," she shrugged apologetically, flashing him a cheeky grin, "how does it go?"

"You know," Nick cleared his throat, "' all by myself, don't wanna be...'" he crooned offkey, "' all by myself, anymore.'"

"Hmpff," Carla snorted with barely contained laughter.

"Oh, you were having me on!" he accused her, playfully poking her in the ribs as she continued to laugh.

"Promise me you won't ever serenade your punters, Nick, else you'll be shut down by springtime!"

"I'll try to contain myself," he chuckled, his eyes lazily raking in every inch of her body from head to toe.

"Your whisky, sir."

"Oh, and another glass of red for the lady, please-"

"Oh no, I shouldn't-"

"Are you actually going to deny the only wish of a heartbroken, jilted groom on the day his heart was shattered into a million pieces? Come on, don't make me drown my sorrows with Eddie, here!"

"I am pretty boring, company ma'am."

She chuckled in spite of herself, "go on then. Another Merlot, please, just a small one, though."

"On my tab," Nick nodded to Eddie, "so," he reached out and tapped his fingers on the screen of Carla's mobile, "why are you hiding from Peter?"

"Do you need to ask?" She raised her wine glass once again, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth and numbness it brought.

"I'd prefer to hear your version. What do you make of this sordid mess?"

"I was gone barely ten days..." She said, running her finger along the rim of her wine glass absently, "I thought he loved me more than that, but he obviously couldn't wait to see the back of me."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my bride-to-be loved me so much that she decided to hedge her bets less than an hour before we got hitched, so..."

She eyed him over the rim of her glass, "That does make me feel a bit better, actually," they both chuckled.

"Go on, then what happened?"

"How'd you mean?"

"At the flat?"

Carla sighed, her fingers twirling her wine glass, "Why do you want to torture yourself, Nick?"

"I dunno. Closure? Glutton for punishment? Take your pick."

"Well, I'd rather not relive it if it's all the same with you," she downed the rest of her wine.

_'When did she get back?'_

_'Last night...late.'_

_'Just in the nick of time, sounds like. Hey, speaking of 'Nick'...'_

_'And what if I hadn't kicked you out, eh? What then?-'_

_'You made your bed-'_

_'If I had let you go ahead and kiss me!'_

_'Oh, don't come here, causing trouble!'_

_'You are unbelievable!'_

She glanced at the puppy dog expression on Nick's face and felt herself cave. He deserved to know the truth, and after being blindsided and humiliated twice in one day, she certainly didn't owe Leanne or Peter anything at this point.

"She offered herself to him on a silver platter; and he told her she misread the signals."

"And do you think she did?"

_'Go home, Leanne. Don't make him your summat borrowed-"_

_'Oh, you think you've got it all sewn up? Well, one smile-'_

_'Let it go-' Peter tried to interrupt her_

_'one kiss from me last night,-'_

_'Just let it go!' _

_'-and you would've been bouncing your way back through terminal 2!'_

"I don't know," she shook her head, "It's a lot to take in, and I'm still jet-lagged. Barely been back 48 hours."

"48 hours? You've been back for two days?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"Well, why didn't you go see Peter sooner, then?"

"Uhh, not that it's any of your business Tilsley, but I had...other things I had to do first..."

"B-but don't you see?" he sputtered, "If you had shown up two days ago, he wouldn't have gone to see her last night! Played his little games, messed with her head -"

"Oh, not you as well!" She huffed in frustration, "You know, I've already got a nine-year-old irrationally blaming me for this, alright? I don't need a grown man doing it an' all!"

"No, no, of course not," he felt a wave of guilt crash over him as he watched her try to blink back the tears that lined her eyes, threatening to fall, "Of course it's not your fault. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come across like that," he reached out and laid his hand gently on top of hers but pulled back immediately as she jolted sharply away from his touch.

"Sorry," she whispered in embarrassment as she raised her fingers to the bridge of her nose, "I wish I could stop myself from doing that..."

"You don't have to apologize, I should have remembered..." His eyes carefully swept over her, the gaze that just minutes before had eyed her hungrily, now replaced with genuine concern. He carefully reached out his hand to hers again, this time merely resting it upon the bar-top. He smiled as she placed her small hand in his, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze, resisting the urge to draw her into his arms instead of this superficial attempt to help ease the battle she was fighting internally.

When she finally made eye contact again, offering him a weak, reassuring smile, he carefully moved in closer to her, "I'd never hurt you, you know?"

She nodded, "I know," her fingers grasped his, and she gave them a gentle squeeze back, "I do..."

"Well, not exactly the sort of 'I do,' I was planning on hearing today, but it'll take it," he winked as she laughed and playfully punched his arm, "right," he smiled genuinely at her, before rising to his feet and holding out his hands to her, "come on!"

"What?"

"Let's go sit over by the fire, take them heels off, take a load off."

She bit her lip and grinned at him as she twisted in her seat, placing both hands in his as he helped her shimmy off the high stool.

His thumbs caressed the soft skin of her fingers in reassurance, and as her feet landed softly upon the floor he drew her closer to him, her long lashes fluttering as she looked up into his green eyes. A shy smile tugged at her lips, and she stepped back from his piercing gaze.

She freed her hands from his grasp, tucking her hair behind her ears and gathered her belongings before turning towards the sofa, desperate to conceal the blush that had inflamed her cheeks and left a perplexed Nick in her wake.

He lingered a little longer at the bar, smiling in amusement as she stepped out of her high heels and sank back into the soft leather of the settee, audibly clearing her throat as she glided her hands smoothly along her thighs.

His smile quickly faded. He should have been thrilled; after all, he had succeeded in what he had once thought impossible: ruffling the seemingly unrufflable Carla Connor. But in doing so, he had managed to unsettle himself in the process.

When had things changed between them? When did the flirty banter they had engaged in for years suddenly shift to tease the potential of something more? He couldn't be sure. What he did know, in those few seconds that he had held her body close to his, Nick felt a more profound attraction to her than before.

Her mobile vibrated upon the wooden coffee table, its flashing screen indicating an incoming call and affording him a brief pause from his thoughts as he curiously watched her reach for it. He was certain that she would answer it this time. Instead, she surprised him yet again, frowning at the screen and declining the call. Was she feeling this attraction too, he thought as he retrieved their drinks from the bar and sauntered with a renewed confidence towards her.

"Here you are," he handed her the Merlot and took a seat next to her on the sofa, twisting his body, so he was facing her, intently watching as she tucked one of her legs under her body, the hem of her dress hiking up another tantalizing inch.

As he draped one arm along the backrest of the sofa, his fingers so close to her shoulder he could almost feel the heat from her body, Nick reached out with the other arm, the whisky glass grasped in his hand "so madam," he proclaimed, "shall we toast to the end of a spectacularly horrid year?"

She shook her head, shuffling closer to him, "no. I think we should toast to summat positive."

Nick's eyes hypnotically lingered on the sweetheart neckline of her figure-hugging dress, to the swells of her breasts that rose and fell with each breath, "to a bright new year?"

She flashed him a dazzling smile. The effect on him was instantaneous; that old familiar feeling, that twitch in his pants as his desire for her swelled into life. She clinked her glass against his as her gaze fluttered flirtatiously between his eyes and his lips.

"To us..."


End file.
